CAN'T YOU SEE THAT YOU'RE LOST WITHOUT ME?

And it was, in a way. Doom still had a job to do as the sole ruler of his country, and what happened could play in his favor. Though he had not enjoyed that the cost had been many innocent lives, families, children—

Doom slowly walked around him, observing him behind his mask, but not in a way that should spread superiority. Though, Doom did think he was above men. All men.

"Do not sell yourself short, Colonel. You and I have plenty to work on, for the better of our countries."

"Now…"

“Follow me, Colonel, if you would be so kind.” Doom stood in front of him but offering him an arm or two of space between their bodies. The way Doom spoke those words came with a sense of trust--or perhaps, not something so subjective but rather it sounded like he knew Zemo could. It wasn't an invitation, a helping hand, Doom couldn't possible be so pitiful with a man who had just lost it all.

"When was the last time you _____?"

finish the sentence in the inbox

It hurt him because underneath all that armor, Doom had been once a man who had known tragedy, solace, pain, loss…

But voicing such would not bring any comfort to the other, it would not bring his family back, nor the Avengers to justice.

“Loss is a terrible thing. Yet, it shapes us.”

Doom did not mean to sound hopeful, and yet perhaps he had.

“Latveria is not a replacement for what once was, but it will always offer refuge, a comforting meal, or a warm bath to those who need it.”

A pause.

He recognized that his presence was likely as much meant to show Latverian sympathies and drum up some support by offering displaced and weary Sokovians like himself the option of a new home. Easy footholds into a political seizing of Sokovia. He might even find it impressive, if he could bring himself to feel anything outside of his pain.

And it was, in a way. Doom still had a job to do as the sole ruler of his country, and what happened could play in his favor. Though he had not enjoyed that the cost had been many innocent lives, families, children—

Zemo sat quietly, sitting on what would've looked like an abandoned stone wall to anyone else, though it was a stone wall that used to be the outline of his home. The rubble had been cleared away, and the pit that had once hosted a wine cellar and storage had been filled in. The wall - the only wall still in place at all - only stood to mark the spot for the news crews to pick through. The chasm of Novi Grad was somewhere behind him. The Danube had filled it, though nothing had settled yet - it was still filthy and couldn't be safely cleaned out by crews. A part of him suspected the ruins would remain buried there forever.

"There's nowhere else to go," he answered, dully. It had likely been two days since he'd had anything resembling a shower, and a week since anything that might've been considered an actual cleaning. His stubble was stuck to his beard and his hair was a mess, with bits of blood flecked in it, so covered in dirt as to be unrecognizable.

It hurt him because underneath all that armor, Doom had been once a man who had known tragedy, solace, pain, loss…

But voicing such would not bring any comfort to the other, it would not bring his family back, nor the Avengers to justice.

“Loss is a terrible thing. Yet, it shapes us.”

Doom did not mean to sound hopeful, and yet perhaps he had.

“Latveria is not a replacement for what once was, but it will always offer refuge, a comforting meal, or a warm bath to those who need it.”

A pause.

What kind of animal walks into a room and figures out what they can use to hurt people if they have to hurt— —what kind— Anything is a weapon if you’re in deep enough trouble.

⸻ Doom folded his arms, perhaps a hint to not exactly agreeing with the Colonel. He could see where he was coming from, he respected the man for his career, wits and skills, but from time to time even Doom had to disagree.

Both did remarkable work together even if, yes, there was no one greater, better than Doom himself. But given time and successful results between their collaborations, Doom couldn’t help but start to take a certain…liking to the Colonel. The information Zemo provided allowed Doom to be one step ahead of everyone else (although, he insisted, he always had been one step ahead of everyone), but he had to give it to Zemo for making it way easier for him to get access to Stark tech.

“Doom sees where you are coming from, Colonel. However, I must disagree this time.”

When had he gotten so soft with his opinions?

He looked down at his breakfast however when he was asked about his own cooking habits. Had he cooked for himself since he'd lost his family? He didn't think so. He was, in fact, fairly certain that the last time he'd cooked properly had been almost a month before everything had happened.

His fork shifted his food around on his plate for a moment before he closed his eyes. He was also fairly sure the only time he ate well at all was while he was here. If she was around, he was certain that Heike would have something to say about that.

Well. That was how it felt after his mother went away even if his father stuck around for a little while before leaving him all alone once more.

“Of course, Colonel. Do not misunderstand, my cooks are renowned chefs, but no one knows true Latverian cuisine than Doom himself.”

He made a pause, observing the Colonel’s choice for breakfast once more before he spoke. “Doom will be the first to say things such as baked goods and good coffee are always a good way to soothe one’s soul, though Doom prefers tea to coffee. But our mind works like a well oiled machine the better we feed our body.”

- @cybernetic-asset 💙

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